PS 3507 
.0183 16 



1920 










.Ov^, 





•» o 
o 









'oK 



C' 







^^0^ 



C 







<A sy- 



< O 




bV 






%^^^-''/ \^^\/ ^°^'^-/ \;^~ 














^^ ^ •©lis* aV *^ oH/^^\K* V 














<r. 




^Y 




• « ' \ ' 






^ 
















'^v 



^^0^ 



n/:»^ 















./\ 










,0 







"^>iJo 







<?. 




ILYAOF 
MUROM 

THE EIGHTEENTH GROVE PLAY 
OF THE BOHEMIAN CLUB 

1920 




ILYA OF MUROM 

BY 

CHARLES CALDWELL DOBIE 

MUSIC BY 

ULDERICO MARCELLI 

THE EIGHTEENTH GROVE PLAY OF THE 
BOHEMIAN CLUB OF SAN FRANCISCO 

AS PERFORMED BY ITS MEMBERS IN THE BOHEMIAN GROVE 
SONOMA COUNTY, CALIFORNIA, ON THE TWENTY- 
FOURTH NIGHT OF JULY, NINETEEN 
HUNDRED AND TWENTY 



I 



SAN FRANCISCO 
BOHEMIAN CLUB 

1920 



COPYRIGHT 1920 

BY BOHEMIAN CLUB 

SAN FRANCISCO 



PRINTED BY BRUCE BROUGH 
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA 



AL'G -2 1920 
©CI,A570918 



FOREWORD 

The material for the following Grove Play was gleaned 
from the legends of Little Russia^ known as the Kiev cycle. 
It is perhaps unnecessary to state that many liberties have 
been taken with the original tales in order to weld them into 
a dramatic whole. 

Many of the lyrics have followed in form and spirit^ as 
nearly as possible^ old Russian folk songs and dances^ while 
others^ obviously^ are modeled along more conventional lines. 

The author craves the indulgence of all who have the good 
fortune to have the technique of poetry at their command. 
Failing such knowledge^ and fearing the heaviness of pages 
of florid prose J he has availed himself of the new poetic 
license and broken up the dialogue into very free verse. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 



ILYA 

IVAN, Father of Ilya 
MARYA, Mother of Ilya 
NIGHTINGALE THE ROBBER 

(A Bird-Demon) 

ZLATIGORKA 

(A Warrior-Enchantress) 

PRINCE VLADIMIR 
FALCON THE HUNTER 

(A Demi-God) 
FIRST PEASANT 
SECOND PEASANT 
FIRST WAYFARER 
SECOND WAYFARER 
THIRD WAYFARER 
METROPOLITAN 

THE VOICE OF ILYA 

(Before the curtain rises) 



Dion Holm 
Frank P. Deering 
Harold K. Baxter 
William S. Rainey 

William B. Hanley 

Benjamin Purrington 
E. Malcolm Cameron 

David Eisenbach 
Ernest H. Denicke 
Ralph H. Lachmund 
Easton Kent 
Frank E. Rodolph 
Charles H. Kendrick 
Charles Bulotti 



Chorus of Peasants J Peasant Dancers^ Bird-Demons ^ NobleSy 
Soldiers, Fruit Bearers 



CHORUS OF PEASANTS 



F. N. Anderson 
A. A. Arbogast 
L. Barnes 
H. K. Baxter 
E. Blanchard 

R. O. BOKEE 

R. A. Brown 

C. F. BULOTTI 

E. Cardinal 
P. S. Carlton 
Harrison Coles 
E. D. Crandall 
C. C. Crane 
M. Creswell 
W. W. Davis 
T. G. Elliott 
David Eisenbach 
C. E. Engvick 
C. J. Evans 
R. E. Fisher 
E. Gerson 



R. A. Glenn 

E. Hause 
R. B. Heath 
Chester Herold 
W. F. Hooke 

W. H. Hopkinson 
r. m. hotaling 
Otis Johnson 
A. G. Kellogg 
Easton Kent 
Walter Kneiss 
R. H. Lachmund 
A. F. Lawton 
Richard Lundgren 
R. I. Lynas 

F. A. Mack 

E. H. McCandlish 
Mathew McCurrie 
John McEwing 
Nelson McGee 
W. A. Mitchell 

P. J. MOHR 



R. M. Neily 
W. L. Newmeyer 

W. P. NiELSON 

Wm. Olney 
H. W. Orr 
R. Probasco 

G. PURLENKY 
C. A. RiESER 

Frank E. Rodolph 
E. W. Roland 
Benjamin Romaine 

A. W. Sperry 

B. M. Stich 
A. H. Still 
E. L. Taylor 

C. F. VOLKER 

T. G. Whitaker 
Mark White 
G. R. Williams 
H. S. Wilson 
A. Y. Wood 



GROUPS 

PEASANT DANCERS 

Fred H. Attinger Chester Deschant Fred Kappleman 
Charles Deschant G. Hammersmith H. J. Levey 

J. C. Messerschmidt August Trost 



Leslie Cupples 

J. R. GWYNN 

R. Leonard 



BIRD-DEMONS 

Ira S. Lillick 
R. W. Maples 
R. L. McWilliams 
E. Trabucco 



F. C. Shaughnessy 
Ted Shawn 
George E. Sykes 



NOBLES 



C. C. Broadwater 
W. C. Hays 



W. F. Leib 
L. W. Mace 



G. Hammersmith 
John R. Selby 



W. H. French 
Andrew F. Mahony 



SOLDIERS 

Preston McKinney 
R. D. Merrill 



R. L. Shurtleff 
George B. Stacy 



Charles K. Field 



FRUIT BEARERS 

Russell B. Field 
Burt F. Lum 



George C. Leib 



STAGE DIRECTOR 
LIGHTING 

FLIGHT 

DIRECTORS OF DANCE 

PROPERTIES 

CHORUS MASTER 
CONDUCTOR 
CONCERT MASTER 
ORCHESTRA MANAGER 



Reginald Travers 

Edward J. Duffey assisted 
by Vincent Duffey 

Wm. H. Smith 

Ted Shawn assisted by 

George Hammersmith 

Harry P. Carlton and 

Harry S. Fonda 
Eugene Blanchard 
Ulderico Marcelli 
T. H. Jensen 
Walter Oesterricher 



Place : Forest Glades near Kiev 
Time : The Middle Ages 



PLAN OF MUSIC 

ACT I 

Prelude 

Lament of Ilya 

Hymn of Peasants 

Dance and Song of Peasants 

Wayfarers' Chorus 

Miracle Music 

Finale 

ACT II 

Interlude 

Entrance of Nightingale 

Theme of Ilya 

Theme of Zlatigorka 

Dance of the Bird-Demons 

Wayfarers* Chorus 

ACT III 

Opening Chorus of Peasants 

March of the Nobles 

Entrance of Falcon 

Fight between Ilya and Falcon 

Funeral March 

Hymn of Peasants 

Wayfarers' Chorus 

Finale 




Nightingale, the Robber 



ILYA OF MUROM 

A FOLK-TALE DRAMA 

ACT I 
A FOREST GLADE IN HOLY RUSSIA 

Before the curtain is raised the lament of Ilya is heard. 

Ilya (singing) 

'Tis not the breeze sighing so long and vainly, 
Nor yet the sky drenching thy hair with dew; 
No, 'tis thy poor Ilya, seeking God's blessing. 
Plead for me, little mother, plead for thy helpless son! 

'Tis not the fluttering of a wounded nestling. 

Nor yet the twig snapping before the axe; 

Nay, 'tis my poor heart breaking in twain. 

Plead for me, little mother, plead for thy helpless son! 

\At the conclusion of the lament^ the curtain rises. 
Ilya is discovered upon a rude couch of straw 
and boughs. A rustic table is at his side with a 
jug of water and a few homely household utensils 
upon it. Off stage comes the sound of song and 
snatches of laughter and the ringing note of axes. 
Ilya raises himself upon his elbow and listens^ 
struggles as if to rise, and, lifting his hands 
toward Heaven in supplication, falls back sob- 
bing. Marya enters. She catches the sound of 
Ilya's grief and rushes toward him, dropping 
to her knees and lifting him up. 

[9] 



Ilya 

Good mother, let me but dry these bitter tears 

Upon the soft patience of thy smile 

And I shall be as blue-skyed as a noon-day hour 

After the dripping anger of April has spent itself. 

ForthoUjof all my kin, know best the burden of my grieving, 

Thou who hast borne me to this sad life of dreadful ease, 

Condemned to eat my bread in idleness. 

Here must I lie, forever gazing at the dancing tree-tops 

Which alone my fancy scales. 

Here must I lie, forever listening to the woodman's greedy 

axe 
Ravishing the fair, green bodies of the forest. 
Here must I lie, chained like yon silvering brook 
When the white curse of north winds is upon it. 
But see thee now, the Spring has long since 
Melted flint-hearted Winter to garrulous pity; 
And, in a summer truce, the impotent stream of bleak 

December 
Laughs on its rippling way, like pigeons to their homing. 
Tell me, kind mother, canst thou not give me words 
So fiery and burning that I may pour them out in hot 

entreaty 
Upon the heart of God until His anger soften? 
Or shall I woo the gentle Christ with sweeter supplications ? 
Surely, He who released the brook from ice-bound servitude 
Can set the warm blood tingling in these limbs of mine 
Withered in an untimely womb. 
Come gentle soul, let us together plead. 
Perhaps our stream of mingled prayers may overflood the 

wall 
Reared by the sins of an unworthy generation 
That, long agone, hath spawned 
Both us and God's displeasure! 

[10] 



[Ilya lifts his hands palm-upward toward heaven^ 
his mother kneels before him with fingers clasped 
in prayer, 'The peasants enter in boisterous 
groups. Some carry axes, some wooden rakes, 
some sickles, and other evidences of harvest-time. 
As each group draws near Ilya and his mother 
they discover the prayerful attitude of the two 
and instinctively drop to their knees. As the last 
peasant assumes this attitude of reverence, cer- 
tain of the company break into song. 



Song of the Peasants 

Here in the golden hush of noon, 
Straight falls the ever-speeding sun; 

Thus, Lord, let down Thy gracious boon. 
On each and every sinful one. 

Give us this day our daily bread. 
And bless the fruitage of the field; 

Extend the forest's leafy spread. 

Increase the stream-side's leaping yield. 

Clothe us in faith as sweetly green. 

As thou hast clothed these fragrant trees; 

Lead now our steps in paths serene. 
And grant all sorrow quick surcease. 

Revive our hopes, destroy our fears. 
Bind up the crimson wounds of sin; 

Soften our pride with chastening tears. 
That thy fair peace may enter in. 

[II] 



Make whole the sick, restore the bHnd, 
Turn not from this thy servant*s cry; 

Sweet Christ, whose heart is ever kind. 
Pass not the humblest of us by. 

Ilya {extending his arms toward the peas- 
ants in thankful benediction) 

Sweet friends, how can I find fair words 

To thank you for your supplications ? 

Surely, if what they say is true. 

This day the throne of Heaven, wearied by our petitions, 

Will, even as the unjust judge, grant us our prayers. 

And make us whole again in body and in spirit. 

[The company rise slowly and begin to spread a 
rude feast upon the grass. 

Ivan {advancing toward Ilya) 

My son, see what today came to my hand 

As merrily I wrought my reaping: 

A lark's nest in the grassy thicket 

Filled to the brim with wide-mouthed life! 

Straightway I thought of thee. 

And carried it thus tenderly in my bosom 

For thy delight. 

Ilya 

Ah, 'tis a goodly omen! 

Let me but hold it here close to this coverlet, 

So to keep warm its precious burden. 

And, when thou goest again to thy gay reaping. 

Take it and lay it gently where the sorrowing mother 

Broods songless at her loss. 

For I, least of all men, can spare the care- free carolings 

Of these, our feathered friends. 

[12] 



First Peasant - 

And I, this woodland flower of wondrous blue, did pluck, 
Take it and wear it next thy heart! 

Ilya 

Not so! My heart is sinful, and hot with a revolt 
That, in a twinkling, would sear so frail a bloom. 
Rather let it be sprinkled with reviving dew 
And kept beneath my gaze. 
Flowers were sent us for our cherishing. 
[He hands the flower to Marya. 

Second Peasant 

I set a snare among the thorny bushes of the hills 
For swift-winged doves. But, in their place this morn. 
Found I this timorous mouse strayed from low-lying plains. 
Perhaps its nimble presence will help more speedily 
To pass the sullen hours. 

Ilya 
Give it here! 

Poor little frightened thing, think you that couch-tied Ilya 
Will find his pleasure in a sorely-caged companion? 
Nay, trembling creature of the fields, take freedom 
From my hand and go in peace! 

[He frees the mouse. 'The peasants look downcast. 

First Peasant 

How! have our gifts so little pleased you.^* 

Ilya 

Freely made gifts must be as freely spent 

If we would find them sweet. 

Look not so sad because my fancy plays the spendthrift. 

Give us a tune, good comrades, and let your dancing feet 

Tell me that I am rich in your forgiveness ! 

[131 



Ivan 

The lad says truly. 

First Peasant 

Come, some music! We who have feet for dancing 
Can scarce deny the gentle favor asked by Ilya 
Our heaven-cursed companion! 

[yf lively bustle ensues. Some throw themselves upon 
the grass and eat^ others lift drinking jugs to 
their lips. Music is played. A group of peasants 
dance furiously^ after the manner of Little Rus- 
sia^ with brave shouts and laughter. 

Peasants {singing) 

When the axe is full of flashing laughter, 
Then the woodland trembles at its mirth; 

When the axe is full of flashing laughter, 
Quickly fall the sobbing trees to earth. 

Watch the sickle hke a moon of silver. 
Moving in the truant sunlight's glow; 

Watch the sickle like a moon of silver, 
Swiftly lay the trembling grasses low. 

See the little sun-burnt leaflets whirling, 
Bitter is the wind and dark their flight; 

See the little sun-burnt leaflets whirling. 
Like the souls of children in their flight. 

Now, my lady's feet are on the greensward. 
Red-tipped are her boots and laced with blue; 

Now my lady's feet are on the greensward. 
Tell me, is my dancing sweetheart true. 

[14] 



When my Masha smiles at me with lips so gay, 
Then my feet go dancing all the live-long day. 
Ai, liuli, liuli, liuli, 
Then my feet go dancing all the live-long day! 

Ilya 

Well done! But to watch your sunlit whirlings 

Sets my dull pulses leaping, 

And stirs my heart to a vain hope! 

Second Peasant {glancing upward) 
The hour of noon is swiftly waning. 
If we would spend a lusty day to the sun's red setting 
We had best claim our noon-day drowse. 

[The peasants respond with nods of approval. 'They 
begin to yawn and stretch. 

Ivan 

Ilya, lad, keep thy sharp eye aloft. 
And when the sun is at its proper slanting. 
Call us that we may be, in perfect season. 
To our appointed tasks. 

Ilya 

Aye, father. I'll let no single sunbeam fall unmeasured. 

[One by one the peasants fall asleep until the only 
wakeful one is Ilya. 

Ilya 

See, now, how graciously they sleep. 

Rocked in the rude-hung cradle of toil. 

Would that I might one day drink as deep of the oblivion. 

Which comes so swift upon the heels of labor. 

But I must be content to lie, 

[15] 



Wide-eyed and pricked with bitter longings, 

Gazing at the clear blue of Heaven, 

That, had I but the wings, would seem 

No further than a swallow's flight! 

[He falls back and lies with arms outstretched^ gazing 
up at the sky. T'he sound oj faint singing is heard 
coming nearer and nearer. Finally^ the figures of 
three holy wayfarers are seen slowly descending 
the long trail. 

Song of the Wayfarers 

Over the hills and the plains. 
Over the streams and the sea. 

Come we tearfully. 

Come we fearfully, 
Foot-sore and wearily. 

In the hot sunlight of noon. 
In the cold bleakness of night. 

With scarce a heeding. 

With scarce a needing. 
Save for Our Lord's delight. 

Past the gray castles of ease. 
Past the sad huts of the poor. 

Unmindful of sorrow. 

Unmindful of morrow, 
Christ-like do we endure. 

By the still waters of peace. 
By the loud surges of strife, 

God's love adoring, 

God's love imploring, 
Seek we the perfect life. 

[i6] 



He who revives us with drink, 
He who sustains us with bread, 

Lightens a dreary road. 

Lightens a sinful load, 
Blessings be on his head! 

Over the hills and the plains. 
Over the streams and the sea. 

Come we tearfully. 

Come we fearfully. 
Foot-sore and wearily. 

[At first Ilya remains inactive^ but, as the strains come 
nearer he rouses himself, watching in silent curi- 
osity the wayfarers as they make their way toward 
the center of the stage. 

First Wayfarer 
Quickly . . . some water ... I faint! 

Second Wayfarer 

Courage, brother! 

My senses tell me that we have drawn near a humble habi- 
tation. 
The poor are ever gracious and pitiful. 

Third Wayfarer {turning about and 
catching sight of Ilya) 

How now, lad? Must thou lie thus in swaddled ease. 
While poor, spent pilgrims swoon before thy slumbering 

threshold? 
Some water! In all haste and charity come quickly. 
Lest we die! 

[17] 



Ilya {pointing to the jug upon the table) 
Gentle and holy men, drink ye your fill! 
Yon jug is moist to overflowing. 

Third Wayfarer 

Bring it to us, thou slothful and unmannerly youth! 
Canst thou not see that we are all three 
Wearied and foot-sore almost to our death? 

Ilya 

Pitiful strangers, how canst thou think so ill of this thy 

helpless servant? 
Gladly would I run tripping to thy call, had not just God 

Himself, 
Set the dull curse of withered limbs upon me. 

Third Wayfarer {lifting his right arm 
aloft) 

Ilya, son of Ivan, rise and give us drink! 

Ilya {struggling painfully) 
Holy Brothers, I cannot! 

Second Wayfarer 
Ilya, son of Ivan, rise and give us drink! 

Ilya {struggling and raising himself a 
trifle) 

Sweet friends in Christ, thou doth almost persuade me. 

First Wayfarer 
Ilya, son of Ivan, rise and give us drink! 

[i8] 



Ilya {throwing himself with a mighty ef- 
fort from his couch and standing sud- 
denly erect) 

Pitiful Heaven, do I but dream? 

Or do my feet at last touch the moist Mother Earth? 

Wake me not, I pray thee, if my senses have so sweetly 

wandered. 
But let me rather flee the body thus in trembUng joy! 

Third Wayfarer 
How now? . . . Hast thou so soon forgotten? 
Water! Art thou still unmindful of our need? 

[Ilya gazes at the wayfarers in silent wonderment ^ then 
very slowly and cautiously he moves toward the 
table. Lifting the jug he pours a draught into an 
earthern cup and, carrying it between his palms, 
he walks over to the wayfarers. He falls on his 
knees, offering them the cup. They each in their 
turn receive it. 

First Wayfarer 

Drink ye also, Ilya, son of weakness! 

[Ilya receives the cup and drinks. 

Second Wayfarer 
Ilya, son of sudden hope, how is it now with thy strength? 

Ilya {stretching and opening his arms 
with newfound power) 
I thank thee with reverence, venerable fathers. 
My strength is now such as could surely move the earth! 

Third Wayfarer 

Give us to drink once more. 

[Ilya hands them the cup. 

[19I 



First Wayfarer 
Drink again in thy turn, Ilya, son of great power! 
[Ilya drinks. 

Third Wayfarer 
Ilya, son of holy might, how is it now with thy strength? 

Ilya 

I thank thee gratefully, pious brothers. 

My strength is only half as wondrous as before. 

First W^ayfarer 
'Tis well ! 

If it were greater then this moist Mother Earth 
Being too frail, would bend beneath thy weight! 

[Ilya leaps to bis feet with sudden ecstacy^ and^ seiz- 
ing an axe^ begins to strike right and left at some 
saplings bringing them down with a crash, 

Ilya 
Father . . . mother . . . comrades! 
Awake ! Awake ! Awake! 
Throw off your heavy slumber. 
And see what miracle has by these holy men, 
In God's sweet name, been wrought! 

[The peasants start up in great confusion. Ilya, 
swinging his axe aloft^ brings it crashijig down 
into a stump. 

Ivan 

The good Lord save my senses ! Have I gone suddenly mad ? 
Or is this, then, indeed my ill-begotten son. 
Who, but an hour agone, lay like a wingless fledgling 
Deserted by the flying brood? 

[20] 



Come, little mother, tell me, is thy sight also 

Tricked into vain imaginings? 

[Marya, shrinking into Ivan's encircling arm, nods 
her answer. T'he two, in wonderment, draw near 
their son, feeling his arms, his face, his hair, 
T^he peasants do likewise. 

First Peasant {seeking to dislodge the 
axe that Ilya left in the stump) 
Saint Basil and all his followers preserve us! 
This strong-armed son of fury has lodged the axe 
Past all hope of recovery! 

[Ivan and the Second Peasant try their hands at 
the axe also, without avail. Ilya, throwing his 
head back with a smile, pushes the peasants aside 
and draws the axe from the stump. 

Ivan {lifting his eyes toward heaven^ 
Now, then, gracious Father, give ear to the poor thanks 
Falling thus humbly from the lips of thy unworthy servant. 
For this, my son, who was in bondage held, is freed again! 
For this, my son, who was laid low, is raised aloft! 

[Ivan steps fo7'ward, enfolds Ilya in his arms, and 
kisses him upon either cheek. Marya follows. 

Ilya 
Look not so sad, good comrades ! This is a time for laughter ! 
See how I leap and click my anxious heels together. 
Do we lack music or has my sudden fortune 
Forever stilled your dancing feet? 

[At this hint the music starts up the same merry tune 
that was played when the peasants danced for 
Ilya's delight. At its somid the peasants for?n a 

[21] 



circle about Ilya and swing into a spirited 
measure as he stands in the center capering to 
the music. Ivan, urged in pantomime by the 
anxious mother^ breaks through the circle and 
drags the reluctant Ilya aside. 

Ivan 

Softly, my lusty son ! Thy mother 

Is not yet fully won to thy swift-winged recovery. 

Stands she aside with anxious heart. 

Counselling a greater prudence. 

There will be time enough for mirth and dancing 

After the burden of both field and forest 

Hath by thy might been tested. 

Ilya {^standing between his father and 
mother with an arm encircling each) 

Good sire and patient mother, forgive my foolish joy! 

Hadst thou but known the sweet taste of deliverance, 

Thy fond indulgence would bear with me. 

But thou sayest truly, too long have I been fed by pitiful 
bounty. 

The sun is slanting to its slow-measured wane; 

Give me yon axe and let me try my fortune 

Side by side with these fair friends. 

Who have, in days gone by, helped me 

With song and dance and jest 

To pass the loathsome hours. 

Or if the reaping of the meadow suits best thy purpose, 

Put in my hand a shining sickle, 

And I shall prove my worth, and so requite thee all. 

[During this speech the wayfarers who have stood 
silent and forgotten begin to recover interest in 
the proceedings. At the conclusion of Ilya's 

[22] 



words they push their way toward the center 
of the stage, with their right arms uplifted. 

Third Wayfarer 

Ilya, son of Ivan, spend not thy strength upon the forest 
Nor put the might of thy right arm to either plow or scythe. 

Second Wayfarer 

But set thee out this day upon the business of thy Father 
who is in Heaven, 

For He hath graciously raised thee up to be a light shining 
in the darkness. 

For he hath redeemed thee from weakness to be a sure de- 
fense for them that are beset. 

First Wayfarer 

Gird up thy loins and get thee speedily to the Holy City, 

And, in its gilded Sanctuary, offer thyself up a stainless 
sacrifice. 

That God may consecrate thee in graciousness to snow- 
white deeds 

Fit to release the world from its sad thrall. 

Tarry not an instant on thy way. 

For the road is long and the journey filled with weariness. 

And there is none save thee strengthened for the task. 

Keep thy heart clean and trust not to the wiles of women; 

For in the kisses of their mouths is destruction. 

And from their couches rise tribulation and sorrow. 

Do but keep this commandment and thou shalt be con- 
founded by nothing: 

Neither by the hordes of infidels upon the plains 

Nor the companies of robbers that lie in wait upon the hill- 
tops. 

[23] 



The foaming river bordering the Black Morass shall not 

affright thee, 
Nor shall the bird-demons of the forest find aught in thee 

but might for their destruction. 
But take you good heed of Nightingale, the Robber, 
Whose nest is raised among the seven highest tree-tops 
And whose sons and daughters sharpen their talons 
Wherewith to pluck out the eyes of them that God hath 

favored. 
Through thee shall all fear be laid low; and by thy strength 

shall all sorrow and strife be ended. 
Keep thou but in the path of righteousness and speedily 

will joy and fellow-ship be brought to fruit. 
But fail thee in purity but one hair's-breadth 
And who shall say how long the Lord, in His just anger, 
Will keep thy weak feet wandering in the soft paths of sin, 
Until his heart be melted. 
Ilya, son of Ivan, farewell! 

Take neither script nor cloak nor loaves upon thy journey. 
But wear this golden cross ever about thy neck, 
And all things shall be added to thy store. 

[ne First Wayfarer slips the golden cross from his 
shoulders and places it about Ilya's neck. He 
salutes him with a kiss upon the forehead. Ilya 
kneels before him. 

Ivan {clasping his wife in his arms) 

The Lord hath given and the Lord hath taken away. 
Good mother, grant that we may be faithful, even unto 
sorrow ! 

[The wayfarers begin their departure, singiiig. As they 
climb the hill the peasants kneel, grouped about 
Ilya. 

[24] 



Song of the Wayfarers 

Over the hills and the plains. 
Over the streams and the sea. 

Go we carefully, 

Go we prayerfully, 
Wandering pilgrims three. 

Bearing a message of hope. 
Bearing a message of joy. 

From the appointed one. 

From the anointed one, 
Who shall all care destroy. 

God who is patient and kind, 
God who is loving and strong, 

Sends thee a spotless youth. 

Sends thee a shining truth, 
Watch for the night is long! 

Over the hills and the plains. 
Over the streams and the sea. 

Praising the Holy One, 

Praising His gracious Son, 
Praising the Blessed Three. 

[yfj the wayfarers disappear^ Ilya rises to bis feet 
and begins to ascend the hill. His mother rushes 
forward and attempts to dissuade him but Ivan 
gains his side and together the three make their 
way until half the hillside is gained. At this point 
Ilya gives his parents a last embrace. He then 
lifts aloft the cross hanging about his neck ayid his 
mother and father drop on their knees. 'The peas- 
ants, still kneeling, sing. 

[25] 



Song of the Peasants 

Speed now thy servant on his way, 

Armed with the weapons of thy might; 

Be Thou his shining cloud by day 
And guiding shaft of fire by night. 

Keep his swift feet within the path 
Trod by Thy gracious saints above. 

Lay not on him Thy chastening wrath 
But fold him gently in Thy love. 

Until at last his journey done, 
Exalted may he ever rest, 

The good fight fought, the swift race won. 
Among the company of the blest. 
['The First Peasant rushes up the hillside and 
places a cap upon Ilya's head. The Second 
Peasant follows swiftly and puts a pilgrim s 
staff in his hand. The far-away echo of the way-- 
farers' chorus comes to Ilya's ears. He embraces 
his friends and begins to climb the hillside. 

Curtain 



[26] 



ACT II 

At the foot of a mountain path on the Way to the Holy 
City. 'The entrance to a castle looms vaguely in the light of 
flickering torches. 

[Nightingale, the Robber, flies out of the gloom, 
breaking the woodland silence with devilish 
laughter. 

Nightingale 
The night is swooning fast, 
Its pallid fate forecast, 

As hushed it cowers. 
Blackness foretells its doom, 
Woven upon the loom 

Of ever-darkening hours. 

Now through this sullen glade 
The moon's cold glances fade, 

And all intent 
Upon the wolfs drear howl. 
Answers the twittering owl. 

In soft lament. 

List to the amorous toads. 
Lilting their croaking odes, 

Hard by the rim 
Of lily-petaled ponds, 
Ringed by unfolding fronds. 

Fern-green and dim. 

[27] 



This is the time for deeds, 
Foul as the slimy weeds. 

Plucked from a pool 
By noisesome drippings fed. 
And stinking waters bred, 

Soft-choked with drool. 

Come now my sharp-clawed flock. 

Thy chest of dreams unlock. 
Loosening thy spell; 

Break down Sleep's flimsy gate 

With bludgeonings of hate, 
And unbind Hell! 
[Nightingale's call is answered by shrill cries from 
his broody who dart out of the gloom and with 
outstretched wings come gliding down the trail. 
Nightingale stands in the center of the stagCy 
filling the night with horrible laughter as his 
brood execute a brief pantomimic dance. At the 
height of this orgy the door of the castle is thrown 
open and the figure of Zlatigorka emerges^ 
followed by two attendants with flaming torches. 
Nightingale gives the signal for the birds to dis- 
perse. T'hey flee upstage and cower, listening 
in the dimness. Nightingale, himself, slinks 
into a shadowy corner and watches. 

Zlatigorka {to her attendants) 
Lift higher thy torches! 

The venom-tongued cries of Hell come not from shadows! 

I would seek out these gaudy-voiced revelers. 

Who suit my purpose and my mood in such shrill fashion. 

[As the attendants do her bidding, Nightingale 

comes slinking out of the gloom, fawningupon her. 

[28] 



Ah, Nightingale, thou arrant robber. 

So 'tis thou who seeks to thus beguile my casement 

With sharp-toothed serenades ! Come closer, fear me not; 

Silence has pricked me deep with her cold fangs, 

And tonight, thy throaty clamor drips like a stinging balm 

Upon my wounds. Tell me, was the moon blood-red with 

Or hid she sullen and disdainful, at her rising, 
Behind a smoke-dun cloud? 
For I am gorged with bitter unquiet, 
And sharp forebodings gnaw my vitals. 
The sky must be thick-starred with flaming portents 
Upon a night that brews so strong a draught of wakeful- 
ness 
For my sleep-greedy lips! 

Nightingale 
Why seek from me a sign, thou mighty and unvanquished 

warrior-queen ? 
Hast thou no spells with which to snare 
The future's red-fanged secrets ? 
Where is the boasted and silver-shining shield 
That once did fend thy brave though mortal father? 
Many a time saw I thy socerous mother 
Lifting a torch above its brazen depths 
At the dark hour before dawning; 
And like a garrulous mirror its polished surface 
Yielded the hidden purposes of Fate. 

Zlatigorka 
Thou dost but mock me with thine accursed truths! 
This shield have I unfearsomely consulted 
For weal or woe that must on others fall; 
But I would, as lief, sever a crushed and dripping limb 



From my fair body, as gaze with mine own eyes 
Unscreened upon the scurvy tricks that Fate hath stored 
Against my deep content. 

Nightingale 

Ha, Powerful Zlatigorka! Where now is thy prideful 

strength? 
Art thou indeed strong in arm only, but in thy spirit 
As timorous as a twittering sparrow? 
Hast thou not learned that Fate hath chains 
Only for the binding of them that fear her? 
Bring forth thy father's shield and let me read the tale 
That runs within the shining depths. And if it be too 

horrid, 
ril veil its ugliness in silken falsehoods. 

Zlatigorka {pacing restlessly up and 
down in indecision) 

Nightingale, art thou indeed a friendly knave. 

Or dost thou plot to rob me of courage and my high estate 

In one swift darting? 

Nightingale {fawning before her) 

Do humming-birds plot to overthrow the eagle's 
Sky-blue empire? And is the bear's snug pit 
Threatened by the assaults of nibbling hares? 
Deny my friendship if thou wilt but grant to me, at least, 
The soft-armed vJrtue of prudence. 

Zlatigorka 

The dripping honey of thy words doth almost lure me to 
thy purpose. 

\She paces about in further indecision. 
Well, as thou wilt! 

[30] 



[Tb the attendants. 
Bring forth my father's valorous shield, 
And let misfortune's messenger run swiftly to his journey's 
end! 

[One of the attendants hands his torch to the other and 
goes into the castle upon Zlatigorka's errand. 
T'he enchantress stands in deep dejection but 
Nightingale can scarcely conceal his satisfac- 
tion. The attendant returns hearing the shield. 
At his entrance the brood of Nightingale who 
have been lurking in the shadows creep cautiously 
upon the upper stage and stand in close-locked 
groups^ peering down. As the attendant passes 
Zlatigorka with shield up-borne^ she shrinks 
behind her own shield as ij fearful to catch even a 
brief glimpse of its telltale depths. Nightingale 
motions the first attendant to set the shield upon 
the ground. The second attendant steps forward 
and returns the torch to his companion. These two 
range themselves on either side of the shield^ hold- 
ing the torches directly over it. Nightingale 
stoops between them, peering down into its 
polished surface. Zlatigorka stands expectantly 
but with averted face. 



Nightingale 

Now Fate doth spin her net 
Misfortune's snare to set 

With threads of chance; 
And in this shining shield 
Her hidden secrets yield 

To my keen glance. 

[31] 



Within the brazen rim 
Flashes in outhnes dim 

A form, swift-paced; 
Valiant and undefiled, 
Comely but unbeguiled, 

Thick-loined yet chaste! 

Into this leafy bower 

Strays he with righteous power, 

Unchained by sins; 
Hung not with sword nor spear. 
Yet knowing naught of fear 

His mate he wins! 

Zlatigorka {with a confident laugh) 

Tell me, is this the dribbling yield of prophesy 

From so prodigal a sowing? The figure of thy visioning 

Smells more to me of dung-hill than of battle-sweat! 

\Musingly, 
Hung not with sword nor spear! 

Nightingale {interrupting) 
Yet knowing naught oi jearl 

Zlatigorka {impatiently) 

Think thou our woodland fastness 

Is to be made the sport of fools? 

Ignorance and courage doth ever couch together. 

Thou knowst well it is decreed that I shall be invincible 

Save to that warrior who can in fair-won fight 

Subdue me to his rough-shod will, melting my steel-cold 

chastity 
Within the red flame of his yearning. 
Look ye again and seek a further sign 
With which to match such valiant prophesies! 



Nightingale {bending over the shield 
again) 

With measured tread and slow. 
Vague phantom-figures grow 

In endless chain. 
By tear-crowned sorrow led, 
Soft to the marriage-bed 

Of Death, glides pain. 

Struck by the torches' beam, 
A shaft of golden gleam, 

Untouched by dross. 
Rises to meet my gaze 
As with profane amaze 

I glimpse the Cross ! 

[At the mention of the Holy Symbol the torches are 
mysteriously extinguished and Nightingale' s 
brood fall terror-stricken on their faces. Zlati- 
GORKA shrinks again behind her up-raised shield. 

Nightingale {gliding to Zlatigorka's 
side) 
Didst thou find this last visioning to thy taste? 
Or shall we light the Heaven-blown torches once again 
And tempt Fate's ugly purpose further? 

Zlatigorka 
The Cross! 
Tis strong enough in sooth! . . . What's to be done? 

Nightingale {mockingly) 

What's to be done! 
Do my ears play me false, or is this then indeed 
The skimming eaglet of the ice-carved pinnacles 

[33\ 



Seeking the favor of a thicket nesthng? 

Thou art proud, with reason, Warrior-Queen, 

But, until this night, thou rose disdainful 

And self-sufficient in thy power. 

Not so thy socerous mother. With all her skill. 

Bound she the loyalty of her woodland friends 

With the swift thongs of service. 

He who stands singly stands on scant ground! 

Tis well, I bend my neck to thy commands. 

Grant me the single boon of charmed life 

And I shall ever do thy bidding! 

Zlatigorka [lifting her shield above 
Nightingale's prostrate body and 
placing her foot upon his neck) 

So long as I, myself, shall hfe endure 
Thou shalt by neither dart nor ill be slain! 

Nightingale {leaping to his feet) 

Now shall I be immortal! For we twain 

Casting our lots together can, like a yelping wolf-pack. 

Keep Death at bay and scorn the very Gilded Cross, itself! 

Advance, my thick-spurred brood, and bow thyself 

Before this dual throne of power! 

[At Nightingale's command his brood flutter down 
the hillside and prostrate themselves before Zlati- 
gorka and Nightingale. Safe in the assurance 
of a charmed life. Nightingale has lost his 
fawning manner and stands erect and imperious, 

Zlatigorka 

What sound was that, 

A woodland whisper fluttering from top-most branch, 

134] 



Or hath the wind plucked from its place a dew-starred 

cob-web 
And dashed it free of its filched jewels against some gaunt 

and naked twig? 

Nightingale {putting a hand to his ear) 
I hear the muffled beat 
And glide of swift-sure feet 
Sifting adown the gloom; 
Let us in purple shade 
Go creeping undismayed 
Plotting pale virtue's doom! 
[Tb Zlatigorka 

From thy sword-latticed bower, 
Watch thou in brooding power 

The coming morn. 
By powers low or high 
On earth will Heaven die 
Or Hell be born! 
\The brood melt upstage into the shadows where they 
can be dimly seen. Zlatigorka enters the castle^ 
followed by her attendants who close the door. 
Nightingale slinks into the gloom andy crouch- 
ing, waits for the coming of the traveler whose 
footfalls have so disturbed them. Ilya enters 
confidently and peering about the gloom catches 
sight of the castle. 

Ilya (^starting toward the flaming torches 
before the castle' s entrance) 
What beacon-lights are these starring the pall-hung night? 
Are they friendly eyes winking me to gracious shelter, 
Or do they glare in somber anger like prowling beasts of 



prey^ 



\zs\ 



[He advances almost to the castle door. 
A goodly portal! yet it frowns with close-locked mouth. 
A moment since and weariness was stranger to me, 
But here, within a short-paced stride of entertainment, 
Sleep weights my dust-stung lids. 
Aye, now I know the sweet content of a sweat-wrung 

repose ! 
ril beat upon the door and see if honest needs 
Can set this threshold smiling out a welcome. 

[He beats upon the door with his pilgrim's staff. 'The 
door opens slowly and Zlatigorka, unattended^ 
steps out into the night. 

Zlatigorka {haughtily) 

Whence comes this cloutish clamor. 

Breaking the virgin stillness of these woods in noisy rav- 
ishment? 
Thou vile-coated varlet, tell me thy name. 
And, as well, the fly-blown dung-hill which bred thee! 

Ilya (proudly) 
Ilya is my name. And my good sire and mother 
With honorable labor do reap their fields and fell their trees 
Within the sweet-strewn forest of Murom. 

Zlatigorka {in a rage) 

What! Can I have heard aright? 

Hath this world waxed so mean that I, the far-famed 

Zlatigorka, 
Warrior-Queen and dark Enchantress, must find my 

dream-decked slumbers 
Rent in twain by the thick-fingered brutishness 
Of lumbering peasant-breed? 

[36] 



Come closer, thou reckless fool, and tell me, if thou canst. 
What punishment I may devise for thy undoing. 

[Ilya draws close to Zlatigorka, half shyly, half 
boldly. As he catches a near-view of her face he 
starts back a trifle and then, with an impetuous 
movement forward, he answers. 

Ilya 

If 't were punishment to serve thee, beauteous creature. 
Forge me thick chains of mighty tasks and I shall languish 

happily 
In harsh imprisonment forever! 

Zlatigorka 

Ye friends! What next will my thrice-doubting ears report? 
Art thou gone suddenly mad? 

Ilya 

Mad? . . . Thou sayest truly! 

Give me thy lips and take whatever wage thy fancy fas- 
hions! 

Zlatigorka 

My lips! Thou swine! Thou sweat-stale plough-boy! 

Know thou not that my fierce favors 

Are to the mightiest warriors themselves denied? 

Lives there no man within a six-months' journey 

Who can with sword or lance wrest from me 

My virgin hoard! Invincible throughout the countless 

years, 
I wait the doom of spear-won mating! 
Think thou then, that what the gods themselves 
Find from their strong-armed reach. 
Will fall a worm-cursed apple into thy loutish hands? 

[37] 



Ilya 

How I shall come by thy sweet gifts I care not! 

Only this I know, I have the strength to hurl 

The mightiest of these forest giants to sprawling length 

Upon the mouldering sward. 

If 'tis thy purpose then to wield thy spear against me 

And play the warrior, lay on, and let Heaven itself 

Proclaim the victor! 

Zlatigorka 

Rash youth, rush not so speedily to thy doom ! 

If thy scant brains have by wan-moonlit wanderings been 

addled, 
ril let thee go in peace. 

I am no petty princess, seeking to entrap a puling fool. 
Think thou that I would match this spear 
Against a path-worn pilgrim's staff? 

Ilya {mockingly) 

What! art thou cowed down already by my boasts? 
Lift high thy shining spear and let me prove 
The warrior blood which pricks my veins so hotly! 

[As Ilya finishes bis speech, be provokes the reluctant 
Zlatigorka to battle with a sharp blow struck 
by his pilgrim's staff against her spear. They 
fight furiously. Meanwhile, with a malignant 
laugh. Nightingale rushes from the shadows 
and attempts to barrass Ilya. His efforts are 
unavailing for, finally, Ilya gets the upper hand 
of the enchantress. He strikes her spear to the 
ground with bis staff, and rushing upon her, 
grasps her in his two strong bands and brings 
her to her feet. 

[38] 



Ilya 
Gracious Queen, what would you now? 

Zlatigorka {adoringly) 

Naught but thy pleasure, 

Thou beetle-browed and ripe-lipped youth! 

Nightingale 
Ye fiends of Hell! 
What net is this spread for our snaring? 

[To his brood. 
Rise up, thou sharp of beak. 
Thy spur-keen vengeance reek 

Upon yon guileless fool ! 
With claw and swift-winged dart 
Pluck eyes and bathe his heart 
In blood-red pool! 

[The brood rush down, and, led by Nightingale, pro- 
ceed to attack Ilya. Zlatigorka, recovering her- 
self, turns upon her protectors. Finally, worsted, 
the brood flutter up the hillside. Nightingale 
flies helplessly about pursued by Ilya, who 
brandishes his staff. 

Nightingale 
Help, traitorous Queen! Remember thou our pact! 

[Ilya is in the act of bringing down his staff upon the 
head of Nightingale when Zlatigorka puts 
forth a staying hand upraised as she chants a 
spell. 

Zlatigorka 
With my hand thus raised full well 
Cast I now my sorcerous spell 

[39] 



While I live thou may not die 
Though I would thy boon deny! 

[Ilya's arm stiffens and the staff Jails from his hand. 
With an exultant shout Nightingale prepares 
. to flee, Zlatigorka again stretches forth her 
hand. 

Zlatigorka 

Gloom-bred robber, stay thy flight, 
I shall clip thy sharp-clawed might, 

Bind thee harmless as a dove 

In the gilded chains of love! 

[Nightingale/<2//j suddenly forward on his face. 

Zlatigorka {calling in a loud voice) 

What ho there, my minions! 

[The attendants appear at the door of the castle. 

Bring forth my father's shining shield. 
His two-edged sword, his plumed helmet 
And the blue cloak with ermine rimmed. 

[The attendants depart. 
For this, my vanquisher, must be in worthy state 
Armed and apparelled as befits his might! 

[The attendants return and Zlatigokka invests Ilya 
with helmet^ shield^ cloak and sword. 
Now art thou indeed a prince! 

Ilya, plough-boy no longer, but Ilya, the valiant Cossack, 
Who hath dethroned with ease a virgin Queen! 
Never in battle shalt thou die. 
For he who girds himself 
With this two-edged and magic sword. 
Shall conquer all! 

[40] 



[She turns to the attendants again. 
Search ye the dungeon for strong-linked chains, 
And bring them to me! 

Nightingale {lying inert) 
Have a care, thou spawn of loathing and deceit! 
Remember I have still my thoughts, and can with evil 
Breed swamp-sour ills that yet will spell thy doom. 

[The attendants appear; Zlatigorka takes the chains 

from them and slips the shining links belt-wise 

about Nightingale's middle. Then she drags 

him to the spot where Ilya stands in new-found 

arrogance. 

Zlatigorka 
Sweet Prince, here helpless lies thy fluttering foe! 
Bind him where and by what means thou wilt, 
And, when thou look upon him, think that thus enslaved 
Doth my fond heart lie prone beneath thy red-lipped smile! 
[Ilya takes the tether and spear from Zlatigorka. 
He leads Nightingale to the upper stage^ and^ 
thrusting the spear iyi the ground^ tethers Night- 
ingale to it. 

Ilya 

Now then, thou feathered demon. 

Weave trouble as thou wilt in the dark caverns of thy 

mind! 
If thoughts alone can wound, do then thy worst. 
For we shall match thy brooding with equal power! 

[Nightingale spits at Ilya with loathing but re- 
mains silent y pacing restlessly back and forth like 
a caged animal. As Ilya descends to the lower 

[41] 



stage the faint sound of the wayfarers' hymn is 
heard far off in the distance. Ilya stands trans- 
fixed and listening. Zlatigorka moves swiftly 
to his side. She takes his hand and attempts to 
beguile him gently from his rapt attention. 

Zlatigorka 
My warrior, hast thou so soon forgot thy weaponless slave? 

Ilya {Recalled from his musings but still 
listening) 

Some old and distant song seems now to trap my senses 
In the sweet snare of memory. I would I could remember! 

Zlatigorka 

Memory is the dull child of yesterday, 

Come, live within the present's fair-decked chamber! 

\She persuades him nearer and nearer the castle door. 

Tonight we'll drop the crimson curtain of our joy 
And shut out e'en the future! 

[Placing her shield-girt arm about his neck she shuts 
out the sound of music from his troubled ears and 
together they enter the castle. T^he wayfarers' 
hymn grows nearer and fades away again. 

Nightingale 

Sweet Night, fond shroud of darkness. 

Let ever thy black pall enwrap my woe in dunnest weeds, 

And sharpen my revenge upon the flint-harsh stone of 

sorrow ! 
Fly thou in ribald dartings, my pestilent fledglings. 
And, with thy profane carolings and whirr of wings, 

[42] 



Drown out the holy song that would recall our love-sick 

vanquisher 
To his invincible purity! 

Hold him but a short space within the narrow cell of love 
And then, full truly, shall Hell be spawned anew 
Upon a helpless world! 

[Nightingale's brood dash out of the gloom and 
dance in wild abandon until the sound of the 
wayfarers' hymn becomes stronger and stronger. 
The dim figures of the wayfarers appear, coming 
down the steep trail. The brood flee and Night- 
ingale crouches close to the spear to which he is 
chained. Singing, the wayfarers pass close to the 
castle and disappear. 

Song of the Wayfarers 

Over the hills and the plains 
Over the streams and the sea 

Come we in mourning 

Come we in warning 

List to our humble plea! 

Ilya turn from thy way 

Ilya turn from thy path 
Think of the race unrun 
Think of the fight unwon 
Think of God's righteous wrath. 

Canst thou so soon forget, 

Canst thou so soon deny 
He who hath filled thy cup 
He who hath raised thee up 

In holy power all-high? 

[43] 



Over the hills and the plains 

Over the streams and the sea 
Bowed low by heavy years 
Bowed low by anxious fears 
Weary and sad come we. 
[As the last wayfarer disappears, the door of the 
castle is suddenly thrown open. Ilya rushes out 
pursued by Zlatigorka. 

Zlatigorka 
My lord, what madness now hath seized thee? 

Ilya 

Destroyer of my peace, keep thy good distance! 

How well do I remember now the music 

That fond Heaven, itself, did waft to me, in gracious 

warning. 
And all too swift at this late hour 
Comes to my mind the holy pilgrim's charge; 
Keep thy heart clean and trust not to the wiles of women! 

Zlatigorka {in panic) 

Canst thou find in thy heart the will to thus desert me 
In the full-flush of joy? Have I not bound in chains 
Thy feathered foe in joyful symbol of our union? 

[Ilya rushes upon Nightingale and dashes the 
spear which tethers the bird-demon to the ground, 
^hen, grasping the chain in his strong hands, he 
proceeds to flee up the trail dragging Nightin- 
gale with him. 

Ilya 

Symbol of joy no longer shall this chained monster be, 
But rather|will I keep him close-tethered neath my gaze 

[44] 



Ever a reminder of my loathsome sin! 

Farewell, thou warrior Queen, let sorrow sting thee deep! 

For I was pledged to sinless ways in token of my sure 
deliverance 

Thus to rejoice the world sinful and sad. 

But thou, unholy woman, hast dashed these hopes still- 
born 

Upon the rocks of red desire! 

Zlatigorka 
Not so ! If thou hast lost all thought of me, 
Think of thy son who one day shall this earth 
Shake with his mighty tread! 
Stay, and with valorous arm, school him in deeds of power! 

Ilya 
My son? . . . Foul schemer thou liest! 
Virtue and sin have never couched together to fruitful 

purpose! 
Nay, ril not listen further! But to the Holy City 
Shall I flee for sanctuary and pardon ! 

Nightingale {with malicious laughter) 
Farewell, ungrateful witch. 
My withering curse upon thy quickening body! 
Soon may the blight begin! 

["To Ilya. 
And thou, foul son of weak-kneed Virtue, 
Trick not thyself in the vain hope that lies 
Are ever in her mouth. She speaks the truth! 
Thy son shall live to set a price of bitter sorrow and 

drearest woe 
Upon thy sore-won pardon ! 

[45] 



And through the biting years, footsore and battle-scarred, 
Shall thou seek vainly the sun-lit road 
Which leads to consecration. The Holy City 
May be glimpsed afar, but like the Promised Land 
Unentered save by purity or perfect penance. 

[With a despairing cry, Zlatigorka falls to the 
ground. Ilya rushes up the hill dragging the 
struggling Nightingale, as the dawn ap- 
proaches. At each turn in the trail a group of 
bird-demons dart out at Ilya but the sight of the 
upraised cross which he holds aloft sends them 
cowering from him. ^he wayfarers^ hymn 
sounds in the distance. 

Curtain 



[46] 



ACT III 

'The scene is the same as in Act I. Twenty years have 
elapsed. It is twilight. The sound of chimes is heard and the 
peasants drift on the stage singing. 

Chorus of Peasants 

See the slender brook on the hillside, 

With its silver trickle on the hillside, 

Liuli, liuli, the brooklet! 

Liuli, liuli, the gay one! 

[Following the sound of the chimes they disappear^ 
with the exception of Marya, who kneels before 
a rude shrine. From the distance come the voices 
of the peasants singing an evening hymn: 

Stainless Virgin, thou whose feet were weary, 

Where, sad Mother, didst thou shelter find? 

Blessed Lady, sorrowing for thy lost One, 

Where, O where. Mother, didst thou close thy tired eyes? 

O'er high hills and valleys lowly. 

Through the woodland wild, 

Weeping she went her way. 

Seeking, Christ, her child. 

As the shadows fell there came 

Footsore pilgrims three: 

'* I beg thee, holy men, 

Hast thou passed my son?" 

[During this song the twilight has deepened, and the 
peasants return singing: 

[47] 



Watch the golden stars in the heavens, 
One by one they glisten in the heavens, 
Liuli, liuli, they glisten! 
Liuli, liuli, they beckon! 

[y^s the peasants finish their singing the First Peas- 
ant catches sight of Marya's kneeling form and 
calls Ivan's attention to her. 

Ivan {shaking his head) 

Aye, poor soul ! 
Thus doth she pour out her life in vain petitions 
For the son who was made whole for our sorrow. 
The days were happier, by far, when he lay 
Sweet-voiced and helpless before our humble shelter. 
Remember thou this day twenty years agone 
When, in blood-red might, he leapt high. 
And waked us with the sharp laughter of his ringing axe ? 

First Peasant 

Twenty years? Dost thou say truly? 

Yes, I remember well ! We brought him gifts 

And he rebuked us in all gentleness. 

For our unthinking woodland thefts. 

He was a tender lad in his affliction; 

I would that he had been as kindly in his might! 

Perhaps, then, he had not left the little mother 

Clucking sorrowfully, like a ruffling hen. 

Robbed of her feathered chicks. 

Ivan 

Thou dost forget, he had the will to sow and reap with us, 
But Heaven's purpose was otherwise. Callst thou not to 

mind 
The Holy Men, and how they charged him with his duty? 

[48] 



First Peasant 

Aye . . . and many times have I thought on it! 
Who knows, perhaps the swiftest path to God 
Lies in the duty near at hand. 
And Christ, Himself, was ever mindful of his mother. 

Ivan 

Ah, well, we must not quarrel with God's good purpose. 
To some the road is long and ever-winding; 
To others, straight and clear and shining to its end. 
The nest-tied lark doth never fleck the blue of noon-day 
With sweet-songed dartings! 

First Peasant 

Nor is the mouse who keeps his hole 
Torn by owlet's dripping beak! 

Ivan {shaking his head) 
Why argue further? What lark or mouse 
Or man among us can withstand his fate.^ 

[During Ivan's speech the figure of Ilya is seen 
coming down the trails leading the dejected 
Nightingale by a chain. 

Ivan 

Tell me, have I still my dull but honest senses? 
Is this the figure of a man winding adown the hill. 
Leading a monstrous bird as if it were the dancing pet bear 
Of some wandering mountebank? 

First Peasant 

In very truth it is! Hey, there, my man! 
What jugglery dost thou perform? 

[JVith eager cries and much jostling the peasants 
crowd about Ilya as he arrives in their midst. 

[49] 



Ilya 
Thou unmannerly loons! Hast never seen before a warrior 
In his shining armour? The sound of pleasant music 
Lured me hither, but I had better turned my feet 
To the ribald turmoil of some shameless market-place 
For all the solace that thy noisy welcome gives. 
What is the name of this sweet-scented wood 
That harbors such a motley brood? 

First Peasant {stepping forward) 

We are but simple folk, good sir. 

With scant acquaintanceship with sorceries 

That yield up birds of giant form for cow-like leading. 

These are the woods of Murom. 

Ilya {overcome as he gazes wonderingly 
about) 

Murom! . . . So 'tis to this vain end that all my years 

Of sword-hewn wanderings have come! 

Sweet Heaven, rob me of my might. 

And give me back the sweet-sad days of my impotent 

youth, 
Thrilled by the lark's cool song. 
Wooed to soft day-dreams by the whispering pines, 
And wrapt in holy fragrance of the flowers! 

{The peasants whisper together^ while the bolder ones 
provoke the dejected Nightingale to quick 
darts and spittings. 

Ivan 

Fair sir, if thou hast traveled sore and suffered, 
Tarry with us a season, and so refresh thyself. 
We are but humble folk, as he hath said, 
But wanderers are ever close to our soft hearts. 

[so] 



I have a son, who, if he Uves, I doubt not, 
Hath many tired and foot-sore moments. 

Ilya {with emotion) 

If 'twere my lot I would thy gracious welcome wear 

To thread-bare end. But rest and peace and fair security 

May not be mine until the will of God hath been accom- 
plished. 

This feathered monster, which thou all doth view with such 
wide-mouthed amaze. 

Is but a living symbol of my great unworthiness. 

And I have sworn to wander far and wide in his unwhole- 
some company. 

Till pitiful Heaven, with flaming sign, release me from my 
holy vow ! 

[He takes Ivan by the shoulders and gazes intently at 
him. 

Gracious father, knowst thou not me? 

Ivan (starting hack in amazement) 
Ilya . . . this thou! My son! 

\lVith a cry^ Marya rushes forward^ sweeps her hus- 
band aside and throws herself into Ilya's arms. 
T'he peasants crowd forward in great excitement 
but at this moment the Second Peasant is seen 
running breathlessly down the trail and he breaks 
in upon the throng with a loud announcement. 

Second Peasant 

Comrades! Prince Vladimir and all his court 
Come to this woodland fastness for a revelry. 
To-night, as I returned from marketing. 
Met I the wondrous company wending their way 

[51] 



With trumpeting and merry jests and valorous boasting! 
[Tbe sound of trumpets is heard. 

Hark! Already are they here! 

We'll look upon brave sights before the dawning! 

[The peasants fall away to the sides of the lower stage 
as winding down the trail come the Court of Vlad- 
imir with a flourish of trumpets and music. 'The 
trumpeters come first, then the Metropolitan, bear- 
ing a huge golden icon, preceded by acolytes 
carrying the Bread and Salt, the Chalice, and 
swinging censors. Then follow the servants bear- 
ing platters with a boars head, roast swan, fruits, 
and flagons of wine. Finally advances the Prince, 
himself , followed by the nobles and warriors of the 
Court. A table is swiftly laid upon the upper 
stage and an altar is set up upon which is deposited 
the icon, the Bread and Salt and the covered 
Chalice. When all is ready, the nobles range them- 
selves about the table, and, at a sign from Prince 
Vladimir, are seated. Before seating himself the 
Metropolitan blesses the company with upraised 
forefingers. The court acknowledges the benedic- 
tion with swiftly bowed heads, but the peasants 
bend very low. 

Vladimir {standing) 
Nobles, warriors, goodly friends, 
I see that thou art puzzled at our royal whim 
For woodland feasting; and with good reason. 
Thy prince, as thou hast guessed, hath a deep purpose 
Behind this empty screen of revelry. 
Our royal city, as thou knowst, is daily scourged 
And nightly sore beset by keen terrors that have sprung 
Full-fledged to strong-armed evil. 

[52] 



For five and twenty days has the shining blue of Heaven 
Been darkened at unseemly times by the swift flights 
Of this foul god of dread repute, Falcon the Hunter, 
Riding the sky and hurling fiery darts 
Upon the golden pinnacles of our sweet-chimed cathedral. 
With such an evil circumstance hovering aloft 
It would be folly's height to plot its doom 
Under the weighty canopy of gilded roofs 
And rough-hewn timbers. Thus did we, in royal wisdom, 
Decide upon this star-hung spot as safest for our gathering. 
For here, though Falcon may be mighty, he cannot rend 
the sky 

And make of it a shroud for our untimely end. 
Now, come we to the meat of what we purpose; 
How many of you here, knowing the dreadful terror of his 
might. 

The fiery keenness of his lightning flash, the thunder of his 

voice. 
Will undertake to stay him when, in burning flight. 
He next essays his hurtling ride athwart the speechless 

heavens ? 

The Nobles {rising with swords up- 
raised) 
We, all of us, in company or singly, 
As thou wilt! 

Vladimir 
We thank thee, valiant knights! 
Knew we full well that not the humblest in our court 
But would fly quickly to the clarion-call of service. 
Pass now the flagons of our gold-green wine. 
And let thy loyalty be sealed in brimming cups. 
Again our thanks go out to you ! 
Let us to meat and then to well-seasoned councilling. 

[S2] 



[^Jbe nobles seat themselves and the Metropolitan again 
raises his fingers in blessing. At this pointy Ilya 
ties Nightingale to a tree^ and marches boldly 
up to the banquet-table^ with drawn sword. At his 
appearance^ Vladimir and several of the nobles 
rise haughtily to their feet. 

Vladimir 

How now, thou sword-girt rustic? 

This is no time for vain petitioning! 

Canst thou not grant thy sovereign Prince a courteous 

privacy, 
E'en though our fancy chooses to hang 
Naught but the torch-pierced curtain of night 
About our festal board? 

Ilya {drawing himself up in dignity) 

Gracious Prince, thou dost misread my purpose; 
I bear no whining pleas for charity! 
My ears are ever opened to the call of service; 
Here is my sword, direct it where thou wilt. 

Vladimir {sarcastically) 

Our thanks to you, brave peasant knight! 

At present speaking our court is hard beset with mighty 

perils. 
But, at a calmer day, mayhap a simpler ill 
Will wait upon thy well-intentioned remedy. 
[Glancing about the table. 

Good friends, crowd up toward me a space. 

That this rash valiant may find a place to sup with us! 

[With much pushing and derisive laughter the nobles 
shift their positions and leave a place at the foot of 
the table. "The Prince motions Ilya to be seated. 

[54] 



Ilya {in a rage) 
Dost thou so rudely jest with me, noble Prince? 
Is this mean seat at table's very end 
The measure of thy hospitality and my worth? 

Vladimir 

Presumest thou to set a rating on thy merit 
Beyond these knights, whose swords and spears 
And lives themselves, are ever listed in the cause 
Of this our Holy Russia? 

Who art thou, that with such gross impertinence. 
Dares to rebuke thy sovereign lord? 

Ilya 

I am Ilya, the valiant Cossack, 

Who, for twenty years, has wandered up and down 

The length and breadth of this fair land. 

Wresting from God, with deeds of might and goodliness, 

A pardon for the one sin which binds me in a weary thrall. 

If fair report has kept the word of my achievement from 

thy noble ears, 
Then Fame, indeed, is but a mute and jealous godess! 

Vladimir 

Ilya, the valiant Cossack! 

If thy speech is truthful, then Heaven itself hath sent thee 

hither, this night! 
Thy fame and might are on the lips of wise men; 
And fools cease their babbling at the mention of thy name! 
Draw nearer and let me clasp thy hand. 
And sit thee at my side, sharing my cup in perfect fellow- 
ship. 

[Vladimir, with the utmost deference^ leads Ilya to a 
place at his side. Instinctively the nobles make 
way, rising and standing in their places. 

[55] 



Fearless stranger, what is thy quest? Whence comest thou? 
And what favored spot claimed thee at thy birth? 

Ilya 

Vainly I seek the Holy City and God's consecration, 
But Heaven's displeasure hath closed the shining road to 

my poor feet 
And I am doomed to stray in endless circles 
Glimpsing the Promised Land but scarcely entering it. 
My wanderings have been long and devious, 
And I would but weary thee and all thy court 
With tales of my exploits. The name of my birthplace 
Is more quickly told. Saw I the light of day 
In these very woods of Murom. 

Below my sire and mother stand, and all my good com- 
panions. 
Of a gentler day. 

Vladimir 

This is indeed a pleasant circumstance. 
And augurs well for our exploit. 
[^0 the servants. 

I pray you carry refreshment to these worthy rustics 
Who honor God and Holy Russia with such fruitful issue. 
[ne servants carry down baskets of fruit and distrib- 
ute them among the peasants. 

Nightingale {pacing restlessly back and 
forth at the spot where he is tethered) 

Swiftly the strands of fate 
In warp and woof of hate 

Are woven true. 
And the appointed hour 
Chimes from misfortune's tower 

With clamorous hue! 

[56] 



[Js he finishes^ he gives forth a peal of dreadful laugh- 
ter which affrights the peasants and brings the 
nobles to their feet, 

Vladimir {in consternation) 
What dreadful sound is that 
Breaking upon our revelry with such foreboding? 

Ilya 
Noble sire, have no fear! 

Tis but the living symbol of my sin, Nightingale the Robber, 
Who, with strong chains, is bound against all further mis- 
chief. 
He and his loathsome brood were once the scourge of pious 

travelers 
In that drear wood, bordering the Black Morass. 
But, even with their freedom, would he and all his fledge- 
lings 
Be naught against my valor. For, know you not, I bear a 

charmed life? 
Never in battle shall I be slain while this two-edged 
And glistening sword is in my hand! 

\A sudden and terrible whistling of wind sweeps the 
wood; lightnings flashy the thunder roars, the 
stage grows dark. Midway upon the trail appears 
the brilliant figure of Falcon, the Hunter, "^he 
nobles cower in fright as do the peasants below. 
Only Ilya stands erect and unafraid. 

Falcon {in a loud and terrible voice) 
Where is this thief and braggart who boasts of charmed 

life? 
Let him withstand my fiery darts if he but can; 
And then, if there is still a puff of whispering breath 
Within his stinking carcass, he'll have good cause for 

boasting! 

[57] 



Ilya {running up the hill to meet his ad- 
versary) 

I am here thou arrant liar and white-livered spawn of 

weakness! 
Come, do thy worst, and let me prove myself! 

[^hey grapple and wrestle together. T'he nobles^ recov- 
ering themselves^ begin to encourage Ilya with 
cries and taunts. The peasants still cower ^ afraid. 
Nightingale laughs sardonically. Finally, Fal- 
con wrests himself free of Ilya and hurls a fiery 
dart at him. Ilya stands smiling a77d unscathed. 

Ilya 

Thou art a dauntless foe and worthy of my mettle! 

But, look thee, how thy darts turn back from my charmed 

body! 
Brave youth, tell me thy land and horde and father. 

Falcon 

What need hast thou of such full knowledge? 
Shave thee thy head while there is yet good time 
And get thee to a monastery! 

{They renew the fight. Ilya presently gets the upper 
hand and, pinning his adversary close against 
the bank, draws his sword. 

Ilya 

Tell me thy parenthood, good youth. 

I would know the sire and dam who bred such courage! 

Falcon 

My mother is Zlatigorka, the gentle warrior queen. 
My father know I in name only. 
Ilya, the Valiant Cossack, is he called. 

[58] 



Ilya {falling back and releasing Falcon) 
Gracious Heaven, can this be true? 

Valdimir {tauntingly) 
How now, boastful Ilya? 
Canst not dispatch this festering pestilence? 
Where is the fealty and might thou swore to me? 

Ilya 
Sweet Prince, this is my son, sprung from my very loins. 
Flesh of my flesh, with my hot blood pricking him to 

wrathful valor. 
Let me but plead with him the while in penitent chivalry 
To cast his lot with mine for holy strivings. 

Vladimir 
Not so! He is a deadly scourge! 

Thy first loyalty is to thy God, thy country and thy Prince! 
Dispatch him as thou hast sworn, or, by our Sacred Lord, 
We'll see it done by fair or foul means! 

Ilya 

Speak not so rashly. I, and I alone, have power for his un- 
doing. 

[He turns to Falcon 

Swear fealty to thy father and yon Prince, my beauteous 
son. 

And straightway shall I release thee from thy doom. 

Go thou again in peace to thy fond mother. 

Who once in virgin fierceness sought to turn from my pur- 
pose; 

Tell her my anger and my loathing have by thy doughty 
valiance 

Been swallowed up. 

[591 



From this night on, shall I her image cherish, 
Forever in a soft and golden heart. 

Falcon 
What! thou my father? Thou loutish peasant in a masquer- 
ade of knightly splendor! 

['Turning toward the hillside and calling loudly. 
What ho ! My mother ! 
Zlatigorka, appear, and choke this feeble lie 
Back in the throat of one who would escape my might 
By rustic trickery! 

\Far up on the hillside the figure of Zlatigorka ap- 
pears. 

Zlatigorka 
Falcon, thou mighty hunter, son of my gentler years, 
Didst thou call me? Or have the whispering trees 
Made sport of anxious ears with sounds of sweet deceit? 

Falcon 
Thou wert called indeed! Here stands a man of dung-hill 

breed. 
Who would persuade me that nature in a devilish gambol 
Did snare thee as his mate, and that I am sprung 
From such a filthy marriage-bed! 

Zlatigorka {peering down intently at 
Ilya) 

Fair and reckless Falcon, he says truly! 

Bow thou in all pride and fond humility upon the ground 

before his feet. 
For thou art happy in a sire whom none can conquer! 
He did forget me speedily and wound me sore 
But from the scourge of his disdain rose I to gentler power. 
The feet of mighty men must ever crush. 
Whatever stands within the paths they blaze! 

[60] 



Falcon 

Thou shameless bawd! Thou hussey! Thou whore! 
Better had I from deep oblivion been ne'r released 
Than had such stinking scum as this for father! 
Tis well, I'll see that nevermore shall warrior-blood 
Be fouled by taint of vileness! 

[Falcon lifts his right hand high and hurls a dart at 

Zlatigorka. As it strikes her she gives a stricken 

cry and Jails dead, 

Ilya {rushing upon Falcon) 

What hast thou done, thou white and leprous sin made 

flesh? 
Thought I at first to spare thee, but now, thou diest! 
And with thee all my guilt and heavy penance! 

[Ilya draws his magic sword and runs Falcon 
through. Falcon's body Jails to the ground. Ilya 
gives a despairing cry and staggers down the trail. 
Vladimir meets him halj-way. 

Ilya {wailing) 

He was my son, fair of form and keen of eye! 

He was my son, mighty in battle and full of valor! 

He was my son, and by his father's hand he died! 

Vladimir {presenting him to the Metro- 
politan) 

Here is God's chosen instrument for good. 

Present thou him a living sacrifice before the throne of 

grace. 
For he hath purchased our release from terror at a grievous 



price! 



[6i] 



The Metropolitan {chanting) 

The Lord distributeth sorrows in his anger, 

And dominion and fear are with him. 

Yet he maketh his peace in high places 

And with his right hand doth he put out the candle of the 

wicked. 

[He removes Ilya's helmet and places his two hands in 
blessing upon Ilya's head as he kneels before the 
Icon, 
The Lord withdraweth not his eyes from the faithful 
And if they be bound in fetters of sin 
Or holden in cords of affliction, 
Then he sheweth them his work and openeth their ears to 

his discipline. 
That they may spend their days in prosperity and their 

years in pleasure. 

Vladimir {to the attendants) 

Take litters in thy hands and lay these heathen dead 
In readiness for decent burial. Perhaps his sacrifice 
Will cleanse them of profane corruption and set the seal 
Of Christian grace upon them! 

[7*0 the solemn notes of a funeral march the attendants 
ascend the hill with litters upon which they deposit 
the dead. At the same time the acolytes distribute 
candles among the peasants who light them and 
kneel between the two biers as they are placed 
finally on the lower stage. Ilya rises from his 
knees and moves slowly and sorrowfully down to 
the lower level where he stands gazing tenderly at 
the dead. 

Ilya 

Fond mate of sudden springtime. 
Thou wert indeed closer to my heart 

[62] 



Than God's cold penance would allow! 

And thou, too, impetuous blossom of love's golden sum- 
mering, 

I would that thy cold Ups might, for but one brief moment, 

Call me in tenderness and proud acknowledgement- 
father ! 

Nightingale {with bantering laughter) 

Daring Ilya! Valiant Cossack 1 

So tis to this brave ending that all thy boasting paths have 

led! 
Who now is mightier, a father robbed of his fair issue by 

his own hand. 
Or Nightingale, the Robber, whose hate and malice 
Can by no hot-forged chains be safely bound? 
Recallst thou not my warning: 
Thy son shall live to set a price 
Of bitter sorrow and drearest woe 
Upon thy sore-won pardon ? 

Ilya 
Aye . . . thou wert ever gifted in foul prophesies! 
Perhaps thy memory serves thee also for thine own swift 

doom ! 
This valiant Queen who pledged thy safety is no more, 
And with her died thy curst immunity! 

[Ilya crosses over to Nightingale and, catching him 
by the throat, strangles him and flings his body 
upon the ground. 
So let all thy sinister flock languish and die with thee. 
And, from their mouldering carcasses arise, 
No more a serpent-hissing brood, but, by the grace of God, 
Sweet singers that shall wake the moon-lit hours 
To swooning ecstacy! 

[63] 



The Metropolitan {appearing on the 
edge of the upper stage and swinging a 
censor in blessing) 

The Lord doth build up his holy city; 

He lifteth up the meek and He casteth the wicked on the 

ground. 
He healeth the broken in heart and bindeth up their 

wounds; 
He gathereth together the outcasts and the forsaken. 
The Lord telleth the number of stars and He calleth them 

by their names. 
Great is His power and his understanding is infinite! 

\As the METROPOLiTANj^/^/j/^d'j", the kneeling peasants 
break into song. 

Song of the Peasants 

Lord, grant these dead a sure release, 
From all their vain and wilful debt; 

Receive their souls and give them peace 
And on their brows forgiveness set. 

They were but shaped to meet thy plans 

So let them lie in sweet repose 
And as our faith thy anger spans 

Bud thorns of sin with pardon's rose. 
[I'he wayfarers^ chorus is heard and midway upon 
the trail the wayfarers appear, climbing up- 
ward. 

Song of the Wayfarers 

Over the hills and the plains 

Over the streams and the sea 
Come we in gladness 
Robbed of all sadness 

Chanting our Lord's decree. 

[64] 



Now is the morning come 

Now is the blackness flown 
Sorrow and strife doth end 
Peasant and prince doth bend 

Before one throne! 

Ilya, thou art thrice blessed 

Ilya, thou art thrice free; 
Praise thou the Holy One 
Praise thou his Gracious Son, 

Praise thou the Blessed Three! 
[yf J the wayfarers reach the highest pointy they range 
themselves with the first wayfarer in the center and 
the others on either side. 

Ilya 
Now doth the thorn-hedged path of yester-year laugh with 

sweet-scented bloom, 
And, in a shining course, stretches its way with arrow 

swiftness 
To the Holy City where I shall seal God*s pardon 
Beneath the gilded canopy of His wondrous sanctuary. 
Farewell, sweet friends! Good sire and mother adieu! 
Once more I go about my Father's business and in His 
gracious care I leave thee, all ! 

[Ilya mounts to the upper stage where he is met by 
Vladimir and embraced, 

Vladimir 
Ilya, thou holy peasant we greet thee! 
Ilya, thou valiant Cossack, all hail! 
Peasant and humble warrior, no longer. 
But, knighted by our earthly hand. 
Henceforth to us and all our court 
Ilya, of Murom, shalt thou be! 

[65] 



[Vladimir removes Ilya^s faded blue robe and throws 
a white and gold cloak about his shoulders. Sud- 
denly a bright light appears where the wayfarers 
have grouped themselves far upon the hillside. T'he 
holy men are seen divested of their coarse brown 
cloaksy all clothed in white and shining raiment 
with halos about their heads. At this transforma- 
tion even the nobles bow low. 

The Wayfarers {singing) 
Praise ye the Lord. 
Sing unto the Lord a new song. 

Praise ye Him all His angels: praise ye Him all His hosts. 
Praise ye Him sun and moon: praise ye Him all ye stars of 
light. 

The Metropolitan {singing) 

For He covereth the heaven with clouds 

And He prepareth rain for the earth. 

He maketh the trees to flourish upon the mountains; 

And He causeth peace to dwell within thy borders. 

The Entire Company {singing) 
He causeth the wind to blow and the grass to grow for the 

cattle, 
And herbs for the service of man that He may bring forth 

food upon the earth. 
He sendeth the springs into the valleys which run among 

the hills; 
He taketh pleasure in them that fear Him, in those that 

hope in His mercy! 

The Wayfarers {singing) 

Praise the Lord with the sound of trumpet 
Praise Him with psaltery and with harp! 

[66] 



The Metropolitan {singing) 

Praise Him with timbrel and with dance; 

Praise Him with stringed instruments and organs! 

The Entire Company {singing) 
Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord! 

First Wayfarer {singing) 
In the name of the Father! 

Second Wayfarer {singing) 
And of the Son! 

Third Wayfarer {singing) 
And of the Holy Spirit! 

The Metropolitan {singing) 

Through Ages of Ages; 

From everlasting to everlasting: 

The Entire Company {singing) 

Amen 

[Ilya with outstretched arms and a look of ecstacy 
climbs toward the shining figures ^followed by the 
court. A blaze oj light illumines the forest. 



[671 



SYNOPSIS OF THE MUSIC 

In writing the music for the Bohemian Grove Play of 
1920, 1 have endeavored to avoid any systematic arrange- 
ment of a series of songs and choruses. It was rather my 
intention to write a free, unhampered flow of melody inci- 
dental to the story, and serving as a musical background, 
as it were, thus forming a part of the entire atmosphere of 
the performance. 

The Prelude begins with a virile passage (No. i), inter- 




preted by the violas, cellos, and basses and written in fugue 
form, creating the impression that something of great 
dramatic importance is about to happen. In the Diver- 
tissement of the Fugue, Theme No. 2, which consists of a 

m Cr t 




No. 2 



Russian Dance, is introduced, and after the Stretta of the 
Fugue the Lament of Ilya (No. 3), sung behind the scenes. 




No. 3 

[69] 



is heard. Following the Lament choruses of the peasants 
come from the distance introducing in fragmentary form 



^j- / ^ r . r j" j^ ^ n b J J f ri" ^^ -j^ -^ j^ I n p I 




^^^s^w^^^ 



^m 



^ 



s 






j i 7- 



I 



*=; 



^ 



P 



No. 4 



themes Nos. 4 and 2, gradually fading away until they 
become merged with the first scene of the play. 

Theme No. 5 is the Song of the Peasants written in 6/8 



^^ 



%»«/^SA*'1 



^tj. ' M^'VtJ' Ir^Fl^ ^ 



UH4£Hw-i--'^v'A^*^-" ^••- 



/Vl«VH/ 



^^ 



I 



m 



M 




^ 



i^= > ti& 



f 



f 









»«fc« tAi^c-. 



vWij'V I". 1 ( 



:z=s 



i 



i I]- Ml' 



rt 



£g :'- ' ; ■ J'. : 



No. 5 



time, the second part (No. 6) is written in 3 /4 time and 






^B^ 






^ 



i5^ 



^ 



1 



i'^nn?fTpl 



4- 



m- 



^(JjJO^W 



No. 6 



[701 



after the first eight measures sung by the basses these two 
themes are combined being rendered simultaneously. 

The Chorus of the Axes consists of the development of 
Themes Nos. 2 and 4 which were already heard in the 
Prelude. This chorus is a grand ensemble number of 
chorus, orchestra and ballet. The finale of this number is 
a brilliant development of Theme No. 2, 

Theme No. 7 is the Chorus of the Wayfarers and it be- 




^^' 






olaaI iJlc maAAvi 



O^v^CA- tU-l*^**^**^*^ 



o^AHk. JlfJt»iM\ 0-^^>*vtU >rfi(|««i«u.VliU. 




-Uk^ 



aJLk. 



No. 7 



gins with a four-part chorus followed by a tenor solo con- 
sisting of a Russian melody (No. 8); the chorus is after- 



l^r^d^ t-^-U^rt ^°V^-^ iuiK^^i^4«- 




No. 8 



ward repeated with orchestral accompaniment in a more 
elaborate form. 



[71] 



Immediately after the Interlude between the first and 
second acts the Nightingale Theme (No. 9), is introduced, 



Mi 



£ 



^ 



k#^ 



"T^lrff 



t 



No. 9 




and following an intensely dramatic climax the Dance of 
the Bird Demons (No. 10) begins. 



^;a/yifc*o 




No. 10 



Theme No. 1 1 portrays Ilya after his miraculous change 




from a cripple to a strong, vigorous youth, and it is there- 
fore an entirely different theme from No. 3, the Lament, 
which depicts Ilya in his crippled state. Henceforth the 

[72] 



new theme is used as a leading motive to describe each 
mood of Ilya during the rest of the action. 



,^^^— 




No. 12 



Theme No. 12 pictures the Love of Zlatigorka. 
The Prelude to the third act is built around a theme 
of chimes (No. 13) heard from various directions, and a 




joyful chorus of peasants on the way to church (No. 14) 




No. 14 



is introduced. From the church comes a sacred chorus 
with organ accompaniment (No. 15) which is written 

[731 








^^^^^^^^^P^^^^^T^^/^ 




No. 15 



according to the Gregorian school of composition. After 
this sacred chorus Theme No. 13 brings this Prelude to a 
thrilling close. This Prelude is an elaboration of the second 
sketch of the Water Colors Suite. 

The introduction of the Funeral March (No. 16) is 



CUUa^ (Uv^^eXd^ tu^^^^^U^^ 




No. 16 



played by the cellos as a solo, describing the despair and 
anguish of Ilya after slaying his son. 

[74] 



The Finale is architecturally constructed from the 
daintiest pianissimo of the basses to the most powerful 
and imposing climax in which orchestra, chorus, organ 
and soloists combine, and this Finale is developed from 
the Theme of the Wayfarers (No. 7). The work is scored 
for two flutes and piccolo, two oboes and English horn, 
two clarinets, two bassoons and double bassoon, four 
horns, three trumpets, three trombones, tuba, harp, 
celesta, glockenspiel, tympani, percussion, strings and 



organ.* 



Ulderico Marcelli. 



Note. This organ is now being introduced for the first time in the 
history of Grove Plays. 



[75] 



251 78 525 



4 o 



o 




^0 






'^^ 








0' 




w .-^ 



o V 





o 



,* ^^ ^^ 



'^A. J t> fc. j^ C>. ^'^ ■> i S * • ^^ »A -O 

















.<2^^ 



^^-^^ 






4 o 

^^ -^ ^.^'#V- ^^ ^0 r * ' o ^^ a"?* ^. 




'•^. 



C,^ 



4 O 



\ 



^^ 



'^ * 



4 o 



o « o 







N. MANCHESTER 
INDIANA 



<i^. .'V' .\^^^.« 



H<^^ 






015 907 163 7 







